A few weeks ago I was supposed to be in Memphis, spending a considerable amount of time in the great outdoors, specifically in cemeteries (which, if I can’t be in the middle of a forest, is the next best thing). According to the weather on my handy, dandy phone, this was not advisable. It was going to be approximately 30 degrees below zero that day. And windy. Don’t forget the windy part. We decided to wait a day since it was only supposed to be 20 degrees below then. It was warmer, but not enough to make a difference. And still windy. I think I came home with frostbitten fingers. And a permanently red nose with wind-burned cheeks.
Two days later it was lovely and in the mid-60s. After that, the thermometer hung out in that neighborhood or the mid-70s. With the occasional pop-up shower of rain and/or leaves. Leaves gently floating to the earth, carried by the aforementioned wind that is currently behaving itself. Kinda. But next week? By Friday the high is 47. Forty. Seven.
Welcome to fall in the south. Or spring. Take your pick. Except for that leaf thing, it’s pretty much the same. Dress for winter in the mornings and at night with layers you can shed or add throughout the day.
Can you say “unpredictable”? I knew you could . . .
So, other than a default conversation starter, what good are my weather observations? Well, in my world, they’re a perfect analogy for Grief. That unpredictable, messy state of affairs that, once it comes to visit, never, ever leaves. Oh, eventually it may settle down and behave itself. Like the wind that gently blows through the trees, barely moving their branches. You know it’s there, but it isn’t being obnoxious. But then there are those days that feel like a tornado is swirling around you, threatening to carry you away.
Unfortunately, one of the main things Grief and the weather have in common is our inability to control either. Which is why we put on a sweater in the morning so we can take it off at lunch so we can put it back on when the sun sets. In other words, we can’t control what happens, but we can control how we respond to it. And once we figure that part out . . . and accept it as truth . . . we can face Life as it is and begin to adjust accordingly.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
